


Three Square Meals and a Place to Rest My Head

by wordplay



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordplay/pseuds/wordplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years, three men, one family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kappamaki33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kappamaki33/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Way With Words](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/19912) by kappamaki33. 



> I feel very lucky to have been assigned kappamaki13's stories for remixing; I remember loving all of her stories when they came out. This remix aims to capture from a different point of view what I loved most about the story it's derived from: the simple sense of family, of home and acceptance, and of love in the everyday action of her characters. It spans the gap between the last two major sections of the story, filling in some details her POV character of Burt never could have seen, and fleshing out the relationship of Kurt and Blaine as they grew into adults.
> 
> Many thanks to narie for running this fest (which has been great fun), and to L and E for fantastic beta work.
> 
> The main body of the story is PG-13; the epilogue (by beta demand) is R.

_One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating._

_\- Luciano Pavarotti_

Blaine catches up with him in front of Notre Dame. Kurt's waiting for him, eating a sugar crêpe and sipping at a paper cup of vin chaud (three months out of season, but blame global warming) to ward against the chill already creeping into the September mornings. He's been staring at the cathedral so he wouldn't look at his watch, and listening in on the petty dramas of bored schoolchildren (little Yasmine had bitch-in-the-making written all over her little sneer, but he could teach her a thing or two about holding your enemies closer) when all of a sudden the breeze off the river blows in one Blaine Anderson, the ex against whom all exes have to be judged and still the cutest boy Kurt has ever pushed away. 

"Kurt! Oh, god, I was sure I wouldn't be able to find you."

Blaine's cheeks are pink with the cold or the excitement of the city, and his scarf and coat still smell like his brother's house in Connecticut when they go in for a hug. Kurt grins to himself when he greets Blaine with four kisses, welcomes him to Paris in a way that would have been cute if it hadn't reminded him so much of lying in his bed years ago, laying kisses all across Blaine's face because he just couldn't stop. It doesn't matter; four is perfectly appropriate for old friends together again here in Paris, and if Blaine grins at him after and said, "Wow. Very Parisian," then he's not wrong.

Kurt's already been in Paris for a month now so he plays tour guide, navigating them across the city with a sure hand and an acquired (if also somewhat native) disdain. Blaine is bright, his surprised eyes undimmed by jetlag, and Kurt keeps them off the Métro and on the streets, where there is always something to keep him entertained.

Kurt wants him to like it here.

They walk until they're exhausted, stopping at crêpe stands and cafés to regularly refuel as the press toward the Arc de Triomphe. Blaine's been here before, born as he was to a family that saw culture as a necessity for a proper upbringing but not something worth loving on its own. And besides, his own classes will keep him in museums _plenty_ , so they steer clear of the Louvre. Instead they stay on the river until they can cut across to the Tuileries, a string of gardens laid out and basking like it's still late summer, like it was still just last week, like they haven't caught up to the cold snap that's descended on them.

Blaine grabs his hand when they dart across the road at Place de la Concorde and neither of them move to let go, and so they set foot on the Champs-Élysées like they're walking into one of Kurt's old daydreams – hand-in-hand, chattering at each other like they're two pieces of the same life, even if they're talking about the differences in their study abroad programs instead of converting a room into a nursery like he'd always imagined.

They walk, they buy more crêpes (Kurt watches Blaine lick Nutella from his knuckle and remembers him from years ago, standing in his parents' kitchen with a jar and a spoon and an easy grin) and coffee and lunch and a beautiful linen shirt on an end-of-season discount, and Kurt speaks so quickly and sharply to waiters and shop attendants that Blaine just blinks at him. They end the day at the top of the Eiffel Tower, watching the lights of Paris shine below them and huddled against the wind.

From the lower viewing platform Kurt points through the wire mesh at the building that houses NYU-Paris, and he handwaves a few blocks away to where his rooms are located – just a bedsit with a small kitchen, but with a rooftop view of where they are now.

When he turns to grin at Blaine and make a joke about the tragedy of his room, Blaine's turned to look at him, one hip propped against the railing and just watching. The look in his eyes is one that Kurt knows, and when Blaine murmurs, "I want to go to your place," Kurt leaves his old daydreams behind and takes this one instead, watches Blaine for a moment longer just to be sure and then leans forward to press a kiss to his mouth. Blaine breathes in, quick and sharp, tilts his head to open his mouth and swipe his tongue across Kurt's, and clutches at him.

They hold hands as they cross the bridge at Bir-Hakeim, and when Blaine says, "hey, it's the bridge from _Inception_. How do I know this isn't a dream?" Kurt glances at him. His smile is happy, excited, and the Eiffel Tower is putting on its light show behind him.

Kurt smiles at him and says, "You don't," and Blaine gives that little self-effacing smile, that drop of his chin, that is so known that for a moment it's not just a daydream anymore. Kurt thinks, just for a second, that this is the most real moment of his life.

Once they're up the stairs and back in his rectangle of a flat, Blaine drops his bag and opens his coat, unloops his scarf so that it hangs easy down his chest and then leans against the inside of Kurt's front door. He reaches out and gets Kurt's coat by the lapels, drags him close, and Kurt goes where he's been placed, because for _once_ it's exactly where he wants to be anyway.

Blaine leans his forehead against Kurt's and says, "I wanted to kiss you this morning. There was butter and sugar on your lips and they were red from the wine, and I just wanted to taste you again." He drags his nose against Kurt's, nuzzles their faces together, and then leans back against the door and watches him from inches away. "Kurt," he whispers, "kiss me again, and take me to bed."

After that, it's easy.

Kurt has always loved breakfast – his dad's pancakes and omelets and sometimes even bacon. The next morning he adds café au lait in bowls the size of a baby's skull and slices of bread slathered in butter and jam to the list of things that make breakfast his favorite. He brings it all back to bed in three quick trips, because he doesn't have a tray yet, because the floor is cold, because Blaine is still naked but he's already said he has to be back down at Cité U by a little after noon.

Blaine's hands are warm and friendly, his tongue is playful when he licks a splodge of jam from Kurt's chest, and his eyes are very, very serious.

Kurt came to Paris to find his best self, and he thinks he’s doing that; he's sure he will. Maybe, if he's being honest with himself, he hoped to find Blaine again, too; from the moment they'd both started talking about study abroad and it became clear that Paris was on both of their lists, he'd thought about it. It's been a year now – a year with him in New York and Blaine in Storrs, and there have been phone calls and visits, and there have been other men. There are always men.

But nobody else has ever made breakfast feel this easy, like it's a little place to hide somewhere between yesterday and today. Nobody but his dad and Blaine, and that's a very exclusive club. Kurt takes another sip of café au lait and watches Blaine stretch in the dim Parisian morning, and feels a little closer to better already.

\---

When Blaine walks in the door, what he hears is Spanish.

Women, and Spanish, and the low burble of what Blaine can't help thinking of as bad porn music, and that probably means _Betty la Fea_. Which means Kurt is home for lunch. Just like he is, sort of.

It's an old pattern, meeting for lunch, and it'll be easier here than it ever was in Paris, although maybe not quite as easy as it was at McKinley. Over the last few years Kurt has been just down the corridor, then across the country, then only a bus ride away. And then, suddenly, Kurt had been two trains, a transfer, and a river away, and even then that had seemed like a little luxury, a tiny bridge to be crossed. They've spent almost a year and a half in separate cities since then, holding on and waiting until Blaine could graduate and get himself to New York.

Sometimes he thinks about that; he won't even officially move here for another few months and already he's fallen so in love with this city. He'll be waiting for a train, or running back through Madison Square Park and dodging slow people hollowing their cheeks to suck shakes through a straw, or even just this morning, walking from Kurt's apartment over to Cardozo, and he won't stop grinning. Ohio, LA, Storrs, Paris – he's been all over the place for these last few years, and nowhere has he felt so perfectly situated as he already does here.

He hasn't told Kurt; the gloating would be veiled but intense and permanent, and he's not made it this far by being stupid.

He drops his bag by the door, easy to pick up again once he's on way back out for more meetings with the people who will be his professors for the next year, and Kurt is leaning against the arm of his sofa with a bowl of cold noodles in his lap.

Kurt hits the pause on the DVD player, capturing three women with their mouths wide open, and perks up, grins.

"How did it go?" Kurt's eyes are bright, curious, and he forks up some more noodles and chews even while he watches and waits. Blaine drops onto the sofa, trying to stay a little upright so he doesn't wrinkle his jacket.

"It was good," Blaine says, trying to play it cool. Kurt gives him the eyebrow, and so Blaine sits forward, takes off the jacket, and lays it over the back of the sofa. When he props one knee up on the sofa so he can turn sideways and looks at Kurt, he can't help grinning at the look on his face. "Okay, okay. It was _really_ good. Cardozo is definitely the place."

Kurt drops the bowl onto his lap and claps his hands together, a quick and joyful burst of movement, and Blaine laughs.

"Yeah. Yeah it was – they're just so _smart_ , but they're also really eager – it's a good school, and they take it seriously, and it’s not really my kind of place _at all_ , so many of the students are Jewish and tied to Yeshiva, but I feel... oddly okay there. It’s a good place for me, and you can’t beat the offer." Kurt looks rapt, his eyes bright, and so Blaine says. "It's done. I'll fill out the paperwork after lunch, and then all I have to do is finish out the semester and figure out moving."

Kurt reaches across the sofa and grabs his hand, squeezes it tight, and Blaine watches him take it all in. He can't look away, and Kurt seems to be stuck, too. It's been a long few months, but they both seem to have learned something over the last four years, and it's been easier just to _talk_ about where Blaine wanted to be this time around, to let it be a set of conversations that pulled them together rather than pushed them apart. It can't hurt that this time there's just the two of them talking it out, that Blaine had manipulated his father out of the equation a long time ago, that he feels more like himself now than he ever has.

Kurt says, "You're sure? I know that…."

Blaine squeezes his hand back, drops a kiss to his knuckles. "Yes. I'm going to law school at Cardozo, and I'm moving to New York."

He thinks that Kurt will push the noodles to the trunk he uses as a table and come to him, drape himself all over him and kiss him, and he's half right. Instead Kurt pushes the noodles to the trunk and jumps up, disappearing into his bedroom. "I'll be right back," he cries from just a few feet away, and Blaine can hear a drawer slamming open. "There's lunch for you in the kitchen – go grab it."

Blaine heaves himself off the sofa and takes the five steps into the kitchen, grinning when he sees the noodles, tea, and fruit laid out on the tray Kurt had finally bought in Paris, so long ago. He runs his fingers across the edge, remembers breakfasts and lunches and more than one dinner they'd finished off in bed, chasing crumbs and laughter across and around each other, and he grabs the tray and takes it back to the sofa, Kurt, and _Betty la Fea_.

He nods at the TV and gives Kurt a bit of a look when he sits down and slides the tray onto the trunk.

Kurt's sitting upright, legs crossed and a small box in his lap, and he follows Blaine's nod to the TV. "I’ve told you - Romance languages means more than just French, to my eternal dismay. It’s the quickest way to get my Spanish straight, and you’ve never even watched it with me. You liked _Ugly Betty_!"

" _Ugly Betty_ didn't have porn music."

Kurt kicks at him. "To everyone's eternal remorse. Have you seen those boys?" Blaine grins at him, grabs his foot, and Kurt kicks again but Blaine's not letting go. "Now. A present, on this momentous occasion."

Kurt hands over the box, and Blaine can't help smiling as he rips into it.

Nestled inside are a pair of newly cut keys, with three separate keychains – an enameled state of Ohio, a tiny silver Eiffel Tower, and a shiny red apple. He runs his fingers over them, and he looks back up at Kurt, who's smiling at him, soft and sweet.

"I like it when you come home for lunch," is all Kurt says.

Blaine just nods and reaches for him, pulling him into a hug. Kurt collapses on top of him, pressing his face into his chest, and he stares over Kurt’s shoulder at the keys sitting in his hand. His jacket is bunching up next to his shoulders, and it doesn't matter – Cardozo's already said yes, so who does he need to impress? Kurt whispers in his ear, " _Finally,_ " and Blaine closes his eyes and holds on, stores this moment of coming home in his memory with so many others.

When he pulls back, Kurt kisses him just once, a promise of things to come, and then says, "Okay. Good," and he sniffles after he does. Blaine rests his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder while Kurt scrambles for the remote. "Now. Eat your lunch – I have class at 3:30 and want to finish this episode first. I'll tell you what they're saying, if you can hear me over the porn music."

In an hour or two he'll go back to the law school and sign over the intent of the next three years of his life. In two days he’ll take the bus back to Connecticut and start worrying about his final papers. In a few months they’ll have to find space for his books here. For now, though, Blaine kicks off his shoes and leans into Kurt, into Kurt's couch, into women arguing in Spanish. Kurt’s made him lunch, and he’s always loved cold noodles.

\---

Blaine and Kurt are laughing when they come in the door, which is a bit of a relief. They'd spent the afternoon at Blaine's house, and he's never sure how that's going to turn out.

Two years ago Kurt called him from Paris to tell him haltingly that he and Blaine were giving it another go, and earlier this year he'd called again to tell him that Blaine was moving in; every time the conversation seemed to get easier, or at least Kurt seemed to think so. One thing that hadn't come up at all was Blaine's parents and how they felt about that, and so when Kurt had mentioned that they'd be spending the day of Christmas Eve over there he wasn't sure how that was gonna pan out.

He'd waited until Blaine was upstairs in Kurt's room, changing before dinner, before he'd asked.

"So. The Andersons, huh? How's that going for you?"

Kurt had been draining pasta when he asked, and he'd just huffed out his irritation. He maybe shook the colander a little fast, too, so Burt figured he had his answer. And then Kurt said, "Oh, who knows? Ever since Blaine moved out of Miles's house it's been pretty quiet. Miles says he thinks they got the message when Blaine up and moved across the country without even telling them, but." Kurt shrugged, left the colander in the sink and turned to brace himself against the counter. "Tristan and Miles both came in for the holiday, and Blaine wants to see them and the girls, of course. It's been hard to get away this semester."

"They know you're living together?"

Kurt nodded. "They sent a vase when Blaine told them." Kurt pronounced the word in French, like he does less and less now that he's speaking it more and more. "A crystal vase from Tiffany, and the card just said, 'Best Wishes'. I looked it up on the website. $800, which officially means it's the most expensive thing in our apartment."

"Heavy?" asked Burt, grinning at Kurt's indignation.

"Enough to take out a burglar, for sure," and Kurt smirked back.

"You taking something to their house tomorrow?" Burt asked, trying to figure out just where Kurt stood on this whole thing – Kurt's always been a sucker for beautiful things.

Kurt sighed and shook his head, running his hands down the front of his shirt and pants, beautifully pressed, as always. "Presents for the girls, obviously. Blaine said we should pick up a bottle of two-buck chuck to take to his parents, but I packed the last of the case of champagne I brought home from Paris. You're going to have to tell me which of the two of us they get to more."

"Sounds like they have both of you dancing to their tune," Burt said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

"Maybe," said Kurt. "But the fact of it is that I'm not going anywhere, and neither are they, and Blaine's mother is a sucker for the good stuff." His kid has never been stupid. "And besides – the vase really is gorgeous. Here, I have a picture."

Burt watched as Kurt flipped past photos on his phone. It was all Blaine and random slices of Kurt's life in New York: friends grinning at the camera, people Burt's never seen smashed together with a pair of familiar smiling faces, Blaine smiling gently in the sunlight without a shirt on while Kurt skimmed faster, "sorry, sorry, it's here somewhere," and then finally there it was – a mass of what looks like cut glass on top of a TV table, a blue box sitting in the background.

Burt had no idea what he was looking at. "Yep, that's a vase." He says it in English, because he doesn't think he can pull off what Kurt was doing, and besides, that's what it's called.

Kurt took the phone and turned it around to peer at it. "It's not a very good picture, is it?" He sighed again. "Anyway. I think they're trying, sort of. Maybe. So we have to, too, I think."

Before Burt could say anything else Blaine was shuffling back into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and saying, "Okay, sorry, how can I help?" and Kurt slipped his phone back into his pocket.

That was just last night, so when the boys come in laughing it's a good sign. Burt yells out, "In here!" because Carole's put him to work in the kitchen, simmering sausages in a half an inch of water.

They're out of their coats but still wrapped in scarves when they make it into the kitchen, and Kurt's still grinning a little too loosely for that to be normal.

Blaine gives him a wry smile and says, "Sorry we were loud – Kurt and my mother bonded over champagne this afternoon."

"I'd forgotten how good it is. I can't believe we gave them the last bottle," Kurt says with a pout.

"I'm not sure how much of that one they actually drank, but that was the second to last bottle" Blaine corrects, unwinding Kurt's scarf from his neck and smoothing his hair down in the back for him. "I put one up for your graduation, but you're going to have to share that one."

Kurt turns wide, besotted eyes on Blaine and breathes out, "You are so good to me."

Burt turns back to the stove and grins down at the sausages while Kurt and Blaine fuss in whispers, and when Kurt starts crooning in French at Blaine he stifles a laugh – Blaine's voice is getting higher as he gets more desperate to extricate himself from Kurt's gratitude.

Blaine yelps something about taking his present upstairs, and there's the screech of barstools, so when Burt turns around it's just Kurt, glassy-eyed and propping his chin on his fist.

"You all right there, buddy?" He should probably be more irritated by Kurt coming home tipsy on Christmas Eve, but the kid's old enough, and besides that it's never been a big deal in their household. The big day for them is tomorrow, so tonight they'll make something easy they can just graze on while they can relax in front of the TV. Carole is out with Finn, doing some last minute shopping, and once they get home the biggest thing they'll have to do is pick out something to watch. And besides – it sounds like they had a big day at the Andersons'.

"Mmmm, 'm fine. Just, you know – buzzy."

"I take it everything went okay today."

"Yeah, it was fine. They're fine – they never say anything, but at this point there's not much left that Blaine wants to hear, so. 'Sfine, and his brothers really are great."

That's three 'fine's, but they sound more like laziness than anything else, so all he says is, "Glad you had a good day."

Kurt stretches his arms forward, working out a kink in his back, and says, "Yeah. It's still good to be home, though." Kurt looks at him for a moment, and then he breaks out into a grin. "Hey. I'm gonna go put on stretchy pants. Are Finn and Carole home yet?"

"Nope. Carole called about an hour ago, asked if we needed anything else from Wal-Mart, so I think they should be home relatively soon."

"Great. Good." Kurt stands and stretches again, and Burt sees a flash of himself in Kurt's gestures – something about the way his hands move, just for a second, is like seeing his own dad, brought back to life in another generation of Hummel men. "Don't start without us, okay?"

"You got it."

And then Kurt has turned, is tripping up the stairs to his bedroom. He hears muffled voices, music, something with a Spanish beat, and then the door closes.

Kurt's laughter peals down the stairs, the sausages spit in the pan, and Burt turns back to the stove and relaxes. Time to finish making dinner.

 

 

_Still a tiny bit hungry? A little something sweet is on the next page...._


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt stands with his back to the kitchen, hands on his hips, staring around at the common living spaces of their apartment.

“Did he build a _pillow fort_? How is this even _possible_?”

Blaine hangs up his keys by the door without even sparing a glance for the hook, and he manages to peel his eyes away from how broad Kurt’s hand is spanning his slender waist to look around their living room. And, honestly, he didn’t even know they _had_ this many blankets. Or pillows.

He frowns, because... “Where is that vase my mother gave us?”

Kurt moves two steps forward, tugging viciously at a blanket that’s been shoved halfway down the back of the sofa to start folding it. “Oh, I boxed _that_ up and put it in my closet. There’s no way I was leaving that in a space where Finn would be sleeping.” He uses one corner of the blanket to gesture to the entertainment center, where there’s a conspicuous absence of a vase and instead a pillow slumps, disappearing down the wall. “Good thing, too, it looks like.”

Blaine shakes his head. “I really thought he was getting better. He seemed really together this weekend.”

Pure disapproval in the click of a tongue comes out of Kurt. “I know, I saw it too. Nice of him to leave our apartment a wreck - it’s like old times. I wondered what we’d come home to when we left him the keys and told him to meet us at the hotel for breakfast, but my _god_.” 

He’s frowning down at the blanket, spreading his arms wide and trying to shake the width into a crease he work into a fold, and it takes him three shakes before Blaine can unroot his feet to walk over and help him, taking the bunched up blanket from his right hand and stepping back enough so they can stretch the blanket between them. Together they fold it, working quietly and quickly while Blaine steps toward Kurt as the blanket gets smaller, and when Blaine steps in to take the blanket from Kurt to finish the job, he drops a kiss on Kurt’s mouth, which has started to turn up a little at the corners.

He watches Kurt while he finishes folding, watches Kurt watch his hands, and when he tosses the blanket on the sofa he steps in quickly, pressing his advantage and wrapping Kurt in his arms. The kiss is long, wet, and it turns filthy when Kurt turns his head and groans into his mouth, swiping his tongue against his.

The kiss breaks so that Blaine can lean against him, press him against the back of the sofa and hold him there. And then, probably borne from the last couple of weeks of long study nights followed by the immediate arrival of Kurt’s family, Blaine has an idea so brilliant it makes him grin. He kisses Kurt again, slows it down so that their mouths glide together in a sweet, steady rhythm - and he starts to unbutton Kurt’s shirt. 

The laugh bubbles up from Kurt’s chest, excited and unsure, something like he used to sound all the time. “Right _now_?” he whispers.

“Right _here_ ,” Blaine whispers back.

“ _Blaine_ ,” he chides, but his head tips back so that Blaine can suck on his neck, can lick down to that spot right beside his adam’s apple that has always been Kurt’s ‘on’ button. Kurt shivers, and Blaine pulls back to look at him. 

“This room’s never been more ready for it,” he argues. “And we haven’t in here in ages. Come on.” He finishes getting Kurt’s shirt open and tugs it out of his pants, sweeping his hands up Kurt’s sides to drag heavy thumbs over his nipples while he ducks his head to suck at Kurt’s throat again. That thing in the shower after his run had been days ago, and Finn’s been sleeping in, on, or around their sofa ever since.

Kurt grabs his head, thumbs up his jaw next to his ears, and pulls him up to level a look at him. Kurt looks serious, his eyes steady, and Blaine waits until then Kurt says, “Take your clothes off.”

Blaine keeps staring at him for a moment, and then he can feel the grin break across his face before he sweeps in to kiss Kurt one more time, a loud _smack_ that keeps him grinning when he pulls a few steps back and tugs the polo shirt off his head. He kicks off his shoes while he undoes the button of his shorts, and he glances over to see Kurt watching even while he kicks off his own loafers and unbuttons his pants, shimmying until they slide down his hips. 

Seconds later the room is even more of a wreck than it was, now with their clothes kicked all over the place, but they’re both naked and grinning, which is the point. Blaine grabs Kurt’s hand before he backs around the sofa, and just as he’s on his knees on the pile of blankets and ready to bring Kurt with him, Kurt pulls his hands free and shoves at his shoulder, laughing when he sends Blaine sprawling backwards.

He blinks up at Kurt while he gets his wind back, and Kurt’s standing above him, smirking back at him. Kurt is pale, his hips swelling away from where his cock hangs heavy and half-hard in a nest of trimmed hair, and his shoulders look broad, strong. Blaine licks his lips and smiles, spreads his legs, and reaches up to him, and Kurt drops instantly to his knees to settle over him. 

They’re in a pile of wadded up blankets and stray pillows on the floor of their living room, and Kurt’s cock is filling right next to his, his hands and mouth everywhere, but even while his body is ratcheting up for what comes next, Blaine feels like his _brain_ relaxes, because he’s been waiting to get back to this for long, long weeks. And now it’s a Sunday afternoon, their obligations are fulfilled for a little while, and finally, it’s time. 

-

Kurt rolls over and out of their nest, stretching shamelessly across the bare boards of their living room floor. His belly is splattered with come and there’s a tiny smile etched across his face when he looks back at Blaine. “So that was unexpected.”

Blaine turns his head to watch him, catching his breath and looking his fill. “Hardly. I’ve been waiting for that for days.”

Kurt keeps smiling and tilts his head back, looking around upside down until he spies a nearby pillow and reaches out to grab it. He whips off the case and uses it to swipe at his belly, scrunching up his nose as he does, and when he’s done he rolls back to Blaine to give him the same treatment. 

Blaine watches him while he drags it slow and sloppy over his belly, loves the way his movements go lazy instead of the usual crispness and intent that is Kurt all over, and says, “That was good.”

Kurt smiles, kisses him quick, and then moves back, rolls into a stand, and reaches down a hand to help him up. 

He groans when he stands, because he’d be happy to spend the rest of the afternoon in their little nest, but the look Kurt has in his eyes right now says that he’s ready to get this done. Blaine pauses in the gathering of the pillows to stand naked in the middle of their living room, scratching his belly. “I think I’m hungry again.”

“Still coming back to life? I think there’s still some of that cake that Carole ordered in the fridge.”

“Oh, _cake_.”

Kurt finishes the gathering and sorting, making a pile for laundry and a pile to go back in the storage units under their bed, and looks at him, his hands on his hips one more time, and he looks so good like that - naked, still flushed, and his waist really is just absolutely gorgeous with his hands spanning it. 

And then Kurt says, “Bring the cake to bed?” and that’s it - Blaine has never loved him more.


End file.
